


breathe

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grace Sex, M/M, Marathon Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13882020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Aches, Dean knows all too well: muscle soreness accompanying a hunt or another sparring match at the gym, the occasional bump or bruise or even more unpleasant gash torn somewhere across his skin, or just the pain of getting older, bones no longer working just as well as they should.This, though, is something he's never quite gotten used to.





	breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xylodemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/gifts).



Aches, Dean knows all too well: muscle soreness accompanying a hunt or another sparring match at the gym, the occasional bump or bruise or even more unpleasant gash torn somewhere across his skin, or just the pain of getting older, bones no longer working just as well as they should.

This, though, is something he’s never quite gotten used to—Castiel’s hands cupping the soft underside of his knees, keeping him pinned open; Castiel’s mouth sucking an endless litany of marks wherever he can reach, namely along Dean’s shoulders and the column of his throat; Castiel’s cock, pushing wetly inside him, through the mess of too much come and more than enough lube.

Curling his toes, Dean lets out a breath and hides his face in Castiel’s throat, blunt nails struggling to dig marks into Castiel’s drenched back. For too long, they’ve been at this, grinding under the sheets in the pitch dark, not even the motel’s neon lighting the room. All Dean can hear is their mingled breathing and the creak of the mattress, and an occasional passing car in the far off distance.

“Please,” Dean begs, but for what, he’s not sure. He’s already come three times tonight, all of them rolling into another in a wave that Dean can’t quite tell has ever stopped. Something about angelic stamina, he figures; Castiel is keeping them both aroused despite their staggered heartbeats, pounding dangerously fast in their chest.

Ultimately, the strain in his legs gives him away. “You’re tensing,” Castiel muses, pulling away just enough to let Dean suck in a breath, easing his tired lungs. “You’re not enjoying this.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dean whines. Castiel grinds in closer, so much deeper, and Dean throws his head back, body involuntarily seizing in what has to be an orgasm but doesn’t even feel close; everything burns, and his cock twitches feebly between his legs, already empty. “Fuck, this is it,” he breathes, laughing shakily. “Fuck, I’m gonna die—”

“Far from it,” Castiel says, mirthful. “Are you done?”

Exhausted, Dean nods, laying his head to the side. An hour of nothing but the rhythmic sound of their lovemaking and Castiel’s cock driving him to the precipice too many times to count, and Dean is done, spent in a way he’s never been. “That’s gotta be a record,” he chuckles, sneaking in another kiss and tasting the sweat on Castiel’s lips. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Castiel smothers his smile into Dean’s throat, sucking the curve of his adam’s apple. “That’s the intention,” he drawls, rough and rumbling, and if Dean weren’t worn to the bone, that might be enough to get him up again.

For now, he settles for the drawn-out burn of Castiel pulling out— _finally_ —after what has to be the longest fuck he’s ever had; come dribbles out weakly, and Dean clenches around it, hoping that the towel beneath him did its job. They have to sleep there, after all; though, with how steamed up the lone window is, they might as well just pass out on top of the blankets for the night.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to try,” Castiel says after he returns from the bathroom, two wet washcloths in hand. He towels himself off while tossing Dean another, and the pinch on Castiel’s face says it all. Sure, taking a cock for an hour is one thing, but being the giver in this scenario? Dean feels sorry for the chafing Castiel is bound to endure. “If you’re willing.”

“Long as it doesn’t involve anything up my ass, I’m gold,” Dean says. He tosses the rag away once he’s done, stripping the bed of the towel and hurling it in the same direction. The mattress reeks of sex—it could be worse. “What’re you talkin’, cuddling, massage?”

“In a way.” Castiel shrugs, but lowers himself onto the mattress anyway, drawing Dean’s back to his chest. Here, Dean can feel his frantic heart beat against him, Castiel’s breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Think of this as… a religious experience.” He places his hand atop Dean’s pec, over his heart. “Tell me if you like it?”

“Told you,” Dean huffs, but assents. “Long as nothing’s goin’ up the back door, you can have your way with me.”

Softly, Castiel smiles, and Dean threads their fingers together. Castiel’s other hand, arm crushed beneath Dean’s side, presses just under his navel—that’s when it starts, a sudden chill that spreads through every vein in a slow, crawling wave, like all of the blood in his body has been replaced with ice.

Panic sets in before he can think any better of it, but Castiel just shushes him, pressing their hips together and dovetailing their legs. “Feel it,” he says, kissing over one of the numerous marks he’s created. “Do you feel it?”

“What is it?” Dean asks, curiosity tinged in fear. Whatever this is, it’s different than just a normal healing, localized anesthesia exchanged for something more bodily, all the way to his toes.

Heat pulses in deep enough to absolve the chill, soothing the aches in his muscles; after that, it’s a cycle, leaving him both winded and irrevocably soothed in places he hadn’t thought needed comfort. Like the most thorough hug he could imagine, to the point his body no longer exists as a fixed point. A conduit, maybe; that’s the only word he can come up with, to explain the feeling of Grace flowing freely through him, originating from Castiel’s hands and spilling free, pouring into his soul.

Soul—Castiel is hugging his soul, Dean realizes. They may be close physically, but nothing compares to this, to the ebb and flow of Grace inside, radiating and expanding, compressing. “Cas,” Dean breathes, but his voice feels foreign, tongue sluggish in his mouth. “I feel…”

Again, Castiel shushes him and pulls Dean closer; he sighs against Dean’s ear, and if Dean were to look over his shoulder, he could swear Castiel’s eyes were glowing. “I’ve always liked this better,” Castiel admits. His hand creeps south, dangerously close to Dean’s soft cock, but never lower; for that, Dean is thankful. “Closer. Sex is enjoyable, but I like feeling you like this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, hiding his smile. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“In love,” Castiel muses. Dean’s face burns even hotter. “Accepting. Relaxed, as well.”

“It’s nice, is all,” Dean says. No use denying it, especially when they’re the only two people here. “Like it when you…”

Another wave spreads through Dean’s bones, this one even headier, centering behind his eyes. “You don’t have to say it,” Castiel whispers. “I know.”

Dean nods, at least the best he can. “Good,” he manages, clutching Castiel’s hand. “How long can you keep this up?”

Behind him, Castiel hums, rumbling deep in his chest. “All night, if you want.”

And honestly, Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been more willing in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Julie, since she's currently sick. I hope you feel better honey! <3
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
